We sent him off with a great winter coat when he left for the north last year—a coat and warm gloves and a scarf and hat. Everything he needed to weather the cold.
This morning, my weather widget took forever to report the conditions in Cleveland—a metaphor perhaps for the beating that the midwest is taking. It must be mighty cold where he is right now.
Yet he says that his new favorite sound is that of snow blowing between the drifts.
I can hear it from here. The silent whisping, sandy sound of tiny crystals tumbling across each other. I can hear them from here, and I shiver.
He calls it “a conversion“.
And I wonder if maybe we should have bought him a cheaper coat.